


Well, It's Something...

by greatbriton



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:48:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3195869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greatbriton/pseuds/greatbriton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian and The Iron Bull don't know what their relationship is turning into but it's something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well, It's Something...

**Author's Note:**

> Given Prompt: Dorian taking care of a sick Bull?

The raucous cough makes everybody jump in surprise. All eyes of their party turn to The Iron Bull even as he coughs again.

"Are you alright?" the Inquistor asks, her maple colored eyes hard but concerned.

"It’s nothing," the Bull answers. He rubs at his gray chest as if uncomfortable as soon as she turns around.

Dorian and Sera share a glance before she shrugs it off and carries on, her footfalls light and quick next to his own. She had taken her chance, leaving Dorian to sigh and slow his pace until the Qunari catches up and then he falls into speed with the Bull’s slow lumbering steps.

"I know you don’t wish to worry our dear Inquisitor but I must say you’re looking somewhat less than tip top. Have been all day."

"You saying I’m sick?"

 

"I said no such thing. Although it seems to be on your mind," Dorian says and spares a look the Bull’s way. The Bull’s frowning, his entire face seeming to sag, and trying not to sniffle if the twitching of his narrow nose is anything to go by.

"I’m not sick."

Dorian nods at the Bull’s denial. “Of course not. I was only going to suggest that you might be helped by a mild potion of some sort,” he shrugs then touches the Bull’s shoulder encouragingly. “To lift your spirits.”

"You going to be the one to put it to my lips and make sure I swallow it all down? Me, lying there at you’re mercy, waiting for you to give me what I need?"

Dorian trips over the toe of his own boot but quickly recovers, removing his hand as if burned. He sputters for a second then stares straight ahead at the path before him and says, “That’s not — You’re impossible.”

He quickens his pace and leaves the Bull grinning at his back. Show some concern and this is what you get from that brute. Dorian frowns, and draws out his staff, clicking it on the ground satisfyingly harder than necessary.

Behind him, the Bull sneezes then grunts painfully. Dorian’s frown deepens and he glances over his shoulder at the pathetic sight of the Bull wiping snot from his nose with the back of his hand.

Serves him right.

That evening at camp Dorian waits until most everybody else is busy with their work or retired for the evening. He hesitates outside of the Bull’s tent, the steaming bowl of soup warming his hands enough to counteract the cold night air. The sounds of the Bull rustling about inside are enough to rouse him into scratching at the tent flap.

"May I enter?" he asks, hoping the Bull isn’t indecent.

"Sure."

Dorian pulls back the flap and bends through the opening. He averts his eyes until its obvious that the Bull is under heavy animal skin covers.

He pauses and smirks down at the Bull, a truly miserable sight. “You’re sick.”

The Bull sighs heavily and this time lets himself sniff, “I’m sick. Don’t tell the boss.

"I’m sure she’s aware." Dorian shakes his head, "I don’t know why you bothered denying it."

"Don’t get sick," he answers gruffly, eyeing the bowl in Dorian’s hands with interest.

"There’s a first for everything." Dorian groans at the arc of the Bull’s eyebrow. "I brought you some soup. Eat it."

"Now this is a first," The Bull sits up, the expanse of his shoulders and chest revealing themselves as the blankets fell away. Dorian rolls his eyes and tries not to notice that the Bull’s face is a paler shade than normal and his fingers are cold when they brush Dorian’s as he hands the bowl over. There’s as much of a smile as the Bull can muster on his face. "Didn’t know you cared."

Dorian crosses his arms over his chest and turns his nose up. “Beyond the members of this expedition being healthy, I don’t.” He was confident that if any member of this merry band of smelly bipeds got sick he’d whip them up some old Tevinter cures. Fairly confident.

The Bull watches him for a long quiet moment as if he sees through Dorian’s bluster then he slurps at the soup. His face is passive as it hits his tongue and slides down his throat. Dorian finds himself waiting in anticipation for some kind of commentary from the Bull. Its not often that he tries his hand at being a cook.

"What is this?" he finally asks.

"A Tevinter recipe, although we are missing quite a number of the ingredients at the moment. I made do."

"It’s terrible."

The Bull huffs a laugh and Dorian smiles with him. “Maybe your Qunari palette needs refining.”

"I’m pretty sure this is just shit," the Bull coughs into his hand with a tortured expression. Then he gulps down more of the soup.

Dorian watches him in confusion. “If its so offensive then why do you keep at it?”

"I’m starving," he says. Then he shrugs his massive shoulders. "And because you made it for me."

Dorian hesitates, actually takes a step back before responding. “Well, don’t expect me to make you seconds.”

The Bull finishes off the bowl then sets it down, sniffling like he wasn’t a giant Qunari warrior with an axe always within reach. Dorian tilts his head and fights down the smile on his lips.

"I don’t think I’d survive another bowl of whatever that was."

"Now we’re back to it being terrible, I see," Dorian sighs. "Try to help. Here I was thinking we were having a moment."

"Oh," The Bull smiles, weakly but he gives Dorian a mischevious look. "We were?"

Dorian groans and gives the Bull a withering look, knocking the smile off the Bull’s face. He moves closer only to gather up the bowl from beside the Bull, thinking its a good time to leave. Staying any longer only increases his chances of catching whatever it is the Bull has.

"Thanks," the Bull says earnestly. "I appreciate it."

The Bull sits, watching Dorian watch him, with that stillness he’s so good at. Until finally, Dorian snaps out of it and clears his throat.

"Yes, well —- Get back under your covers. Go to sleep."

"Yes, sir."

Dorian smirks and opens the flap to the tent and says, “Feel better,” as he exits.

The next morning does not see the Bull feeling better. If anything, worse. He hunches and mouth breathes as he pulls up the rear of their party. Occasionally he grumbles about the bright day or his knee, still unable to admit he’s sick in front of the Inquisitor. The complaints alone are enough to put a worry line across the Inquisitor’s forehead though.

Dorian suggests out loud that maybe the Bull should be given the pack mount for riding. To speed their journey back to Skyhold along. They would, if their luck held, make it by midday this way. The Iron Bull, of course, is not pleased by the suggestion. He shoots Dorian a glare that would normally sting but with the Bull’s dismal physical presence and droopy eye, it garners more sympahty than fear.

Eventually, with much threatening from the Inquisitor, they manage to get the Bull to ride. The beast protests a small amount at first, given the sheer size of its new load, but it and the Bull come to an understanding. Neither wants to be there but they have to live through the pain and embarrassment.

Dorian gives the Bull a winning smile once he’s settled atop the horse. “You’re welcome.”

The Bull grumbles about killing ‘Vints when he had the chance.

"That’s hardly called for," Dorian a slow swinging Qunari leg. The kick almost throws the Bull off the horse and he curses as he clutches to the beast. Dorian has a hard time telling if its weakness or that the Bull was that much an inexperienced rider.

The weather stays warm and clear, as do the roads. Without incident they make it back to Skyhold where the Inquisitor demands the Bull be taken to be attended to by healers. The bustle that follows this and the Inquisitor’s grand return leaves Dorian to his own.

He starts to head to his books. There was much he had to do now that he was returned. But after his first step he pauses and thinks of the Bull. How he had given no complaint to being hauled off to the healing tents. How the last hours of the journey he was so withdrawn from his sickness that Dorian had felt the need to check on him a few times.

The Bull had looked asleep while awake. His eye heavy and dark. He had waved Dorian away quickly enough but being that Dorian was no healer, it was satisfying enough that the Bull was still conscious.

And what of the Bull’s men? The Inquisitor had given no instruction to inform them of the state of their general.

Dorian sucks on his front teeth then turns around on his heel. He marches through dusty dirt and unsavory smells to reach the tavern as it was the only place he was aware to look for the Bull’s Chargers.

Luckily enough, he recognizes a member of Bull’s group sitting off in a corner near the stairs.

As he approaches he’s suddenly aware that he’s never officially met this soldier. He doesn’t notice Dorian’s approach or maybe he ignores it. Dorian stops near him and clears his throat. The soldier looks up with an impassive face. Possible he’s picked up a trick or two from the Bull.

"If you’ll excuse me, I am Dorian of House Pavu—"

"I know who you are," he says. He has short brown hair and a clean jaw. He turns away from Dorian and shakes his head as if he wants to be anywhere but here and now. "Altus."

Dorian blinks. “You’re from Tevinter?” A quick realization. “Soporati?”

He gets a harsh breath and a quick “Aye.” and that’s all.

Dorian frowns. He has become accostomed to the cold shoulder since leaving Tevinter but it was never a welcome experience. Especially now, from a fellow countryman but he can hardly feel that it’s unwarranted.

He decides to ignore the lack of introduction and get to the point. “You’re one of the Bull’s company?”

This gets him slight interest in the form of a glance.

"What about it?"

There’s a forced element to his voice that escapes Dorian, who doesn’t have time to linger on it anyway. He rubs one hand over the other and wonders again why this has come down to him. He sighs.

"We’ve just returned from an expedition with the Inquisitor. Your Iron Bull has come down… ill."

"The Chief? Sick?" he sounds unbelieving.

Dorian’s brows screw together. “Yes. Quite sick.”

"Chief doesn’t get sick." He takes a sip from the bottle he’s been holding close.

Dorian’s reaching the end of his patience with this. “I assure you, you’ll find him in the healing tents. Retching and Sneezing and all that nasty business. If it will satisfy you, I suggest you visit yourself. No need to take my word for it.”

He’s given a long measuring look and then the man is on his feet and pushing past Dorian without another word.

Dorian rolls his eyes to the heavens. It is time he gets himself back to his work, this was not worth it.

He does just that. Returning to his research, he finds it comforting and satisying for the better part of the rest of the day. Only finding his thoughts wandering to The Bull in rare moments of idleness. Dorian thinks on inquiring after the Qunari’s state but then he was sure if something serious happened then he’d hear.

It’s not until the next midday that the nagging concern forces him to drop his book with an exaserpated sigh. As if the Bull were there in the flesh buzzing in his ear like a gnat. He’ll check up on him and that will be that. Its only the curiousity of it, is all.

Dorian doesn’t visit the Bull. No, he conedes that doing that would lead to far too much trouble. Mainly with the Bull being insufferable about it. Instead he travels back down through the courtyard and follows the almost pleasant strums of music into the tavern once more. The Bull’s man isn’t there. Dorian puts a hand to his hip and lets out a frustrated huff.

Where was he supposed to look now?

He turns to leave and almost runs into the person he’s searching for at the door.

"Ah, it’s you," the man says gruffly. Dorian thinks he might suggest for the Bull to teach his people some simple manners.

"Ah! It is me. The one and only."

The other man looks away, down, as if he’s mildly embarrassed. Then he squares his shoulders and looks Dorian dead in the eyes. Its a strong gaze that makes Dorian shift on his feet.

"I am glad to run into you…" he allows the space for the man to introduce himself but he doesn’t take it so Dorian gives a polite smile and continues. "I was only curious as to how our mutual aquaintance was recovering."

"You mean the Chief?" he asks briskly.

Dorian feels his cheek twitch. “Ah. Yes. One Iron Bull. We discussed him just last evening.”

He gets eyed up and down before he gets his answer. “He’s fine. He was in pretty bad shape but we got Stiches down there and he’ll be right as rain in no time now.”

Dorian nods as if half of that made sense. He got the main points. “I am sure that is all good news then.”

He thanks the man quickly then intends to head back to his research. So much to do. So little time. It was good to get this out of his brain.

"Krem," the man says from behind him. Dorian stops. "You can call me Krem."

Dorian smiles briefly then turns to give Krem a small bow of his head. “It’s a pleasure, Krem.”

Krem is still eyeing him wearily, an untrusting sort this Krem. “Chief says thanks. For everything. I don’t know what you did but, yeah, thanks.”

He knows the surprise shows on his face so he works to recover quickly. He’d barely done anything. “Good to see that he’s finally coming around to being appreciative of others.”

Krem smirks and gives a curt nod of his head, as if saying his job is done, then he enters the tavern and leaves Dorian with his thoughts. So much for getting this out of his head.

He doesn’t get much work done in the hours that follow. His thoughts aggravatingly turning to the Bull as if the Qunari wasn’t a nuisance enough. After the sun falls he figures he might as well share his misfortune.

Dorian’s at the healing tent a little while later with a steaming bowl of soup in his hands and a book under his arm.

"Krem, if this is another potion from Stiches I’m going to shove a boot up your ass."

Dorian’s brows rise and he laughs, “Well, If I see him, I shall let him know his fate if he comes bearing potions.”

The Bull curses and Dorian pokes his head inside the tent. He smiles at the Bull who’s lying on a pallet that was made for no Qunari. His skin is still pale and there’s an exhaustion about his features that display just how bad the Bull must feel.

"Didn’t know it was you," the Bull mutters, sounding mucousy. Dorian turns up a lip and keeps his distance.

"How could you?" he asks. "I’ve heard you are on the mend."

The Bull grunts grumpily and wipes at his nose. “If that’s what this is.”

"I suppose," Dorian holds out the bowl, still steaming. "Perhaps this will help. A second try."

The Bull eyes the bowl with a set frown. “I’m feeling tired, maybe I’ll get some sleep.”

Dorian sighs. “Don’t worry. This is much better than last time.”

"You sure?" The Bull isn’t buying it. "You make it?"

Dorian tries not to be ruffled by the Bull’s distrust of his food gifts. “In fact, I did not. If that is supposed to ease your mind.” He sniffs as the Bull slowly takes the bowl from him then he takes a step or two back. “I only gave the chef some ingredients.”

"Your ‘Vint recipe?" The Bull leans his nose over the bowl as if he could smell any of it and frowns.

"It might be."

The Bull eyes him over the bowl then takes a large spoonful into his mouth. Slowly his face softens from its hard lines. Dorian smiles as the Bull takes another spoon.

"Hey, this is good. I think," the Bull says.

"Good. I also brought a book," Dorian lowers himself to sit on the other side of the tent from the Bull.

There’s the sound of slurping and sniffing as the Bull continues to shovel soup into his mouth. He only pauses to say, “I don’t have much need for a book right now.”

Dorian crosses his legs and opens the book, placing it in the center of his legs. “I would be shocked if you told me you could read.”

"Ha," the Bull’s reaching the end of the bowl. "There you go again, thinking we’re nothing but brainless rampaging brutes." The words are said with an easy tone but they make Dorian glance down anyway.

"What else do I have if I don’t have that?"

The Bull coughs into his fist. “You think about it a lot, eh?”

Dorian rolls his eyes and bends his attention to the book. He reads aloud.

"They say coin never sleeps, but anyone who’s walked the patrol of Hightown market at midnight might disagree. The pickpockets—"

"Dorian," the Bull interrupts and Dorian looks up. "What are you doing?"

"I’m reading."

The Bull lets out a heavy breath. “I got that. But why?”

Dorian can only shrug. “It is one of Cassandra’s. I thought maybe it was something that someone of your level tastelessness could appreciate.

The Bull laughs, setting the bowl down and lying flat on his back. “This is all I need.”

Dorian bites the inside of his lip before asking, “You rather I leave?”

The Bull closes his eye and shakes his head. “No. Keep reading, ‘Vint.”

Dorian clears his throat with a smile and turns back to the page.

"The pickpockets and confidence men head to the taverns at dusk, the dwarven businessmen and nobles go back to their tiny palaces to fret over the ways they got cheated, and the market falls silent.

Donnen Brennokovic knew every angle of the market with his eyes closed….”

He reads for an hour or so, laughing occasionally at the horrendous writing. The Bull keeps that smile on his lips for a portion of that hour until eventually he falls asleep listening to Dorian’s voice send him under.


End file.
